


Taking Action

by Lady_Paper_Writerson



Series: Fragments of Bats [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: ASOIAF references, Angst, Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2020-05-13 13:11:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19251889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Paper_Writerson/pseuds/Lady_Paper_Writerson
Summary: Tim was never meant to be the one responsible to keep everything-everyone-together.But now, Bruce is a ruin. Dick has lost himself. Jason fell hard, and crushed even harder.He has to do this. He has to try. For all of them. For his family... considering that there's still some of it left.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! ^_^ Let's get back to it!
> 
> Timmy-bird to the rescue!!!

How many times can a person watch the very same two minutes of a security camera footage?

Apparently, not too many.

Tim’s computer informs him that it’s currently 3:30 a.m. He turns his head, just so that he proves to himself that he’s still able to move anything else but his fingers, and glances at the closet mirror.

He hardly recognizes himself. His eyes sting, they’re small and exhausted, the skin around them red. His hair falls greasy over his sweaty forehead, and his t-shirt has practically been attached to his chest by now -it’s impossibly hot, why is it so impossibly hot in there? He’s humped, and when he gives a try to straighten his back, he grimaces at the ache the bad posture has brought up.

He needs to eat something other than ramen. He needs a massage. A shower. And…

“You need to sleep,” Stephanie growls from the bed.

He hadn’t realized she’d woken up. “In a while,” the answer comes to his lips automatically.

He rubs at his forehead, and presses Play again.

The camera shows the scene from above. Freeze enters his cell and sits down on the bed. Batman follows. He’s seemingly talking to him, his back at the camera (damn every security camera in the world that doesn’t provide sound, especially when they’re talking freaking Arkham).

Freeze answers. It’s a rather short exchange. When he turns to leave, Freeze says something again. Batman stands and takes in his hand the book that’s over the counter. Tim’s figured out by now that Freeze had probably just asked for the book, since the Bat then tosses it towards him, on the mattress.

He exits the cell. The entrance gets automatically secured. The guard outside tells him something, touching his own face, and Batman also makes the same gesture. He then glares at the man, for a few moments, before he turns and crosses the corridor. As soon as he’s gone, there’s a bit of chatting going on between the residents of the cells, which is nothing to be surprised about. He’d expect they’d want to know details about Freeze’s case.

And… that’s it.

He sighs, pushing his hair back with both hands.

After Dick’s visit three days ago, and the realization that came of him following the event, he had instantly requested some time off the team, so he could better focus on the mystery surrounding the events regarding the night of Jason’s beating. More specifically, he had to find out exactly what had happened between 20:00 p.m. and 2:00 a.m.

What had happened to make Bruce snap like that.

He’d barely slept at all during that first night, after Dick was gone, but his research was fruitful. By the first morning hours, he had a pretty solid, clear view of Batman’s activities.

He gazes at the list he’s pinned up on the wall of craziness above his desk:

 

 

_~~20:00 to 22:00 – Batcave (recap of current open cases)~~ _

_~~22:30 to 23:00 – meeting with Gordon (must have been serious)~~ _

_~~23:00 to 00:00 – unknown~~ _

**_***00:00 to 01:00 - Arkham, Freeze’s transfer, procedures***_ **

_01:30 – back to the Cave_

_01:42 – Jason shoots Penguin_

_02:20 – incident_

 

 

His first thought was that something had happened between 23:00 and midnight, but he soon rejected that theory, since Bruce acted completely normal later in Arkham, at least to any footage he’d watched.

Which means, something happened _inside_ the Asylum. Clearly not in the director’s office, where Tim knows Bruce remained for at least ten minutes.

Which brings him to _this_ particular footage.

He wants to scream in frustration. There is absolutely _nothing_ weird in all of this, nothing unusual, and yet, there is something that’s just… odd. His instinct yells at him that the solution of the mystery is hidden somewhere between those two minutes.

He presses Play again.

Batman and Freeze talk. Batman turns to leave. Freeze says something. Batman takes the book in his hands…

A hand that isn’t his presses a whole open palm over the space button, and the video pauses.

Tim looks wearily up at Steph. Her hair fly all over the place around her face. Her eyebrows are knitted in a frown. “Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne,” she growls. “Get.to.the.fucking.bed.”

He wants to argue, but frankly, there seems to be no energy left in him. He lets himself get dragged to the bed by Stephanie, who then proceeds to help him slip out of his poor, abused t-shirt and lie down. Before she settles herself beside him, she takes the remote and turns on the fan at the ceiling. The cool breeze that comes from above makes him sigh. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

He feels Steph’s hand gently rubbing at his shoulder. She leans above him and places a soft kiss on his cheek. Tim, without opening his eyes, slightly turns his head, looking for her lips. A small brush of her mouth over his is enough.

His limbs suddenly feel completely, impossibly immovable, heavier than rocks.

Alfred always said that, if Tim didn’t have anyone around to care for him, remind him to groom himself, to rest, to eat, he’d probably work himself to his grave without even realizing it. That he was “just like Master Bruce” on that part.

Just like Bruce.

“I know you want Jason back. I know you want Bruce, the _real_ Bruce back, as well. We all want the same thing. But you can’t help anyone if you break down,” she murmurs.

“I don’t care if I break,” he says quietly. “I don’t care, as long as I fix this. As long as they’re well.”

Stephanie’s hand stills. She presses another kiss on his cheek. “Get some sleep, Tim.”

Tim doesn’t think it’ll be that easy, and yet, not a minute later, he all but snores.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Once he’s up in the morning -well, noon, actually- he immediately heads for the shower. After he’s cleaned himself, after he’s put on some fresh clothes, after he’s sipped two glasses of water, one cup of coffee, one glass of orange juice, and devoured three of Stephanie’s waffles with chocolate and sour cherry syrup, he starts feeling like a human being once more.

“W’t you readin’?” he asks Stephanie while swallowing his last bite.

She’s laid on the couch, her legs resting at the back of it and her head hanging in the void. She’s holding a book in one hand, while supporting herself with the other, pushing back the floor of the apartment, it seems. “A Feast for Crows,” she answers after a while.

Tim hums. “Is it good?”

“Yeah, quite good. Remember how in the show we couldn’t stand the Sand Snakes? Well, I gotta tell you, these girls are pretty awesome in here. Gotta love Tyene Sand.”

“Which one is that?”

“In the show, she’s the ‘bad pussy’ one,” she grimaces. “Like, _nothing_ to do with the book. She’s a fair, graceful lady here, elegant and eloquent, but equally deadly as her sisters. Her weapon of choice is poisoning, she’s an expert, studied that shit for years. Way more realistic than… you know… being an edgy, slutty brat.”

Tim’s checking his phone and catches himself smiling, seeing a message from Dick. It’s a selfie of him and Barbara, in the library. They’re both shushing, and her hand shows the **‘Keep It Quiet, Will You?’** poster at the wall behind them.

Dick didn’t get in detail on how **_that_** flame had brightened up again, but still, he’s very glad at least one thing is going well for Dick now.

“… and see, right now, he touched her head, and the maester is looking for any signs of poisoning, puncture marks and stuff. Hell, if she’d poisoned her veil, there are even poisons that can pass through contact with bare skin. However, I don’t think Tyene would…”

Tim shoots his head up. “What did you say?” he gasps.

“What?” she stops, looking at him with one arched eyebrow.

He’s speechless. He’s stunned.

This is it.

**_This-is-it._ **

He positively _jumps_ from his seat and, spinning violently, he bangs his head on the slightly opened kitchen cupboard door. He sees stars, and staggers back for a second.

“Tim, what the fuck!” Steph yelps in utter shock, almost falling down. “Are you okay?!”

No, he’s really **_not_** okay, it hurts so much that his eyes are watering, but there’s no time for that now. There’s no time for anything else, but…

He stumbles to his room, straight to his computer, and presses Play.

Batman. Freeze. The book. The guard. Batman’s gloved fingers on his own face… after he’d touched the book.

The inmates -his mortal enemies- chattering, all looking… relieved, and positively excited.

And Freeze… Freeze throws the book on the floor, without touching it with even a covered hand. Yes. Throws it on the floor, and kicks it under the bed.

Without _touching_ it.

“Tim, are you alright?” Steph’s worried voice comes from the door.

He doesn’t answer, but he allows himself to fall back against his chair.

Bruce… _Jason_ …

“It’s…”

He can’t say it, can’t explain it. Not right now. Not to her, not to Dick, not to anyone. Not until he’s gathered himself. Not until he’s…

He takes a slow, deep breath, eyes never leaving the screen.

“Arkham,” he rasps. “Steph, it’s them. They’re doing it. They’re doing… _something_.”

He hears footsteps behind him, and soon, Steph turns the chair to get him to face her. Her face is pale, like it always is when something has sent shivers down her spine. Her expression, though, is one of both agony and awe.

“You solved it, didn’t you?”

He nods.

Steph suddenly narrows her eyes. She crosses her arms over her chest, sighing, eyes rolling at the ceiling. “And you’re not telling me, are you.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Not until I… until I talk to Bruce,” he murmurs.

Steph grits her teeth, shifting her weight uncomfortably from one leg to another. “You haven’t talked to him in months…”

“Now I have to,” he says decisively, a spark of unyielding will in his eyes. “I have to, Steph, or… I’m terrified on what might happen to us all."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! :)
> 
> Finally, we're continuing! Yey! ^_^
> 
> I'm not going to lie, I'm sleep deprived, so I'm not sure how this came out, but I really wanted to get the chapter out for you guys. Hope it's not too horrible! :)

All he could think about on his way to Gotham (with only four hours of sleep, and two cups of coffee in his stomach) was how exactly he would approach this. The process he would follow. He’d changed his original plan six times by that point, and had ended up to the inevitable point where there was no plan at all anymore; merely the dreadful, unavoidable prospect of improvisation.

Extra hard, when he had to do this while confronting Bruce, of all people.

He’d decided to do this during the morning hours on purpose. It’s a matter of tactic. This is about the time Bruce is usually getting ready to get to the office. In the light of day, and just being Bruce -not Batman. This was the person he’d wanted to speak to.

Tim sighs and opens the front door of the manor.

Peaceful silence welcomes him, and the instinctive, sweet, nostalgic feeling accompanying his entrance to this house only serves into further magnifying his bitterness over how everything has ended up by this point.

He’s ready to head to the breakfast nook, or, if he’s really unlucky, Bruce’s study, but the soft voice coming from the kitchen registers to him in time. He can’t figure what are the exact words, but he assumes he’d been talking on the phone, since it was basically a monologue, and… he’d be damned if he skipped the chance to exchange a few words with Alfred first. Maybe get a quick little briefing on Bruce’s current state, or a good advice. Or a tiny drop of courage. God knows how he craves for that last one right now.

Every step he takes, Tim’s gradually warming up more and more in that thought, only to freeze when he finally enters the kitchen, and realizes that Alfred’s actually not alone.

Bruce is sitting at the chair in the foot of the table, shoulders hunched, as if he’s carrying all the weight of this world on his back. A plate of Alfred’s scrambled eggs and a couple of slices of roasted bread sits right in front of him, untouched. Α cup of coffee beside it, only faintly steaming. Alfred himself is slightly leaning over him, one hand lightly placed on Bruce’s left shoulder. He’s speaking in a very soft, yet steady voice, like he’d talk to any of them in their gravest moments of fear, or pain, or doubt.

Before Tim even says anything to make his presence known, both pick their heads up, and those two sets of all too familiar eyes glance up right at him.

“Hi, Bruce,” is all that comes out of his mouth. “Alfred…”

He hasn’t even finished speaking, and Bruce is already up on his feet, as if jolted by electricity, approaching. His weary eyes are suddenly lit by a spark of genuine delight, as he takes Tim’s face in his hands, gently brushing thumbs over his cheeks.

“Tim,” he says fondly, voice rich in emotion in a way that, for a second or two, has Tim forgetting what he even came back for.

Bruce looks so evidently delighted to see him, which makes him feel… disoriented. He doesn’t even try to hide it, like he normally would have. They hadn’t seen each other or even talked in months, and, taking all circumstances under consideration, Tim expected him to be formal, stiff and serious. This… this doesn’t feel… normal. And it certainly doesn’t help his general awkwardness. Doesn’t make anything… easier for him.

His eyes slowly scan Bruce’s pale, hollow face, his poor, defeated posture, and as much as he hates it, something inside him _does_ protest vigorously. He definitely didn’t expected this. Neither the sight, nor how much it would shock and hurt him.

He’s… never witnessed Bruce this way. It feels surreal. Surreal, and terrifying, because Bruce is _strong._ Focused. Bruce has logic and _control._ Bruce never allows himself to fall.

It’s the most bitter, ironic twist of reality Tim has ever tasted.

“Bruce, is… are you okay?” he stutters, glancing at Alfred over his shoulder.

Alfred frowns, as Bruce takes in a sharp breath and grits his teeth, trying to regain equanimity. His hands drop from Tim’s face to his arms, holding him in place as Bruce just… looks at him. As if he wants to memorize his face. As if he’s afraid he’s never going to lay eyes on him again.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Tim swallows. “I wish I could say the same,” he murmurs. “You don’t look well, Bruce.”

The hands on his arms are flexing a little tighter, before they’re gone for good. “I’m fine,” Bruce says. “Work.”

“Always a pleasure having you here, master Timothy,” Alfred weights in. “However, I cannot but wonder what brings you here. Has something happened?”

“Yes, Alfred. Something terrible _has_ happened. _Has been_ happening,” Tim nods, gaze returning back to Bruce. “And I think it’s high time that we finally talk about it.”

Bruce stirs, his jaw clenching tighter still. “We can take this to my office.”

“Here is fine,” Tim says, suddenly feeling impatient to end all the formalities and proceed to the main course -his stress doesn’t allow for anything less.

“We’ll be more comfortable…”

“I know you were drugged. The night you did that to Jason.”

It’s as if all sounds died out the moment he spoke the words. Bruce’s look is one of surprise and confusion, eyebrows knitted and lips slightly parted at the statement. He turns his step to glance at Alfred, who’s expression has turned blank. The butler takes a deep breath and steps forward, crossing hands behind his back.

“Sirs, I strongly recommend that you _do_ take this to the office. Or, even better, the cave. As far away from any antiques and porcelains as possible.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tim tells him everything. About Dick’s visit. The trigger his words had provided him with. His investigation. His thought process and conclusions. And, as he speaks, it’s becoming increasingly harder to focus on his goal here. Not to get lost in the fondness and warmth the nostalgic feeling of him sitting alongside Bruce and excitingly explaining to him everything on his detective work over some random case causes him.

Bruce listens, remaining silent, not interrupting him once. Not even looking at him during his speech. His arms are crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed on the floor. Once Tim’s finished, he takes a deep, steady breath, his hand shooting up to rub at the nape of his own neck.

“Jason can’t know,” he says, quietly.

Tim swallows, feeling his throat tight. He closes his eyes and takes a breath. “Nothing of what I said is new to you,” he says, voicing what he’d already suspected. “You’ve figured it out by now, haven’t you? You didn’t know at first… but now you do.”

Bruce nods, slowly, still not looking at him.

Tim rubs his face, sighing. He feels exhausted. “When did you find out what exactly had happened? That it was _them_ that did this to you? After the last time you saw Jason? Yeah, I know about that too. Dick told me.”

Bruce’s eyes are empty. “Jason can’t know, Tim,” he repeats.

Tim can’t help himself; he chortles. He actually does. Zero tries to contain himself. “Go fuck yourself, Bruce,” he says. “Go fuck yourself.”

He has a sense of Alfred grimacing at the language (Tim was never known to extensively use such vocabulary, not even in his most infuriated moods, which says a lot about how he’s feeling right now, he supposes), but Bruce remains mainly calm, only slightly flinching.

Tim doesn’t care about impressions and good behaviors anymore. All that he cares about, all his mind screams at him, is that he’s already lost one family. And for the past few months, he’d just been standing there clueless and idle, watching everything burn. Doing nothing as he witnessed the second one getting slowly poisoned and torturously dying away as well.

It’s too much to bear.

Maybe Dick was right back then, in their final talk before he got shot, and everything crumbled even further. Maybe it truly wasn’t the right time for them to give Bruce hell back then, right after what happened with Selina. With Freeze. With Jason. But there was no doubt in Tim’s mind that right now… the time had come. Someone had to finally face him. Speak to him. Tell him exactly how things were. Make him understand. If this heavy task had befallen upon him… if he’s the last one (the only one) able to speak clearly to him anymore… then so be it.

No matter the cost.

“What gives you the right to keep the truth from him?” he snaps.

Bruce is now looking down, head bowed once more, forearms supported on his knees, his fingers tangled. “It wouldn’t change anything.”

“Wouldn’t change… what the hell are you talking about?” he all but screams. “It changes _everything!”_

“No, Tim. It doesn’t. No matter what they did… how they drove me into it… I _still_ did this. I did this. To Jason.”

For the first time, Tim’s taken aback. “Bruce, you… How can you even say that? You would have never done this, Bruce! You wouldn’t have gone that far with Jason, if the circumstances…”

He stops. Inhales. Exhales.

So many things he wants to say. And no words. No damn words are enough.

“I am the problem, Tim. Not Jason. I know,” Bruce says quietly, voice a little hoarse. “Look what I did to him. What I’ve… always been doing to him. Even if this time I was drugged…”

“Bruce…”

“He’s better off without me,” he states, and Tim can swear he can hear it in his voice; the way this statement, this fear kills him inside. “I’ve done him… nothing but harm. I know he’s in pain. I know. But if he believes…”

“… If he believes that you’re just an epic, abusive asshole who doesn’t actually give two shits about him, it’ll be easier for him to move on. If he knows what happened, if he knows how much you actually care, he’ll come back, and you feel that you’re a danger to him. That you’ll hurt him again. Is that right?”

He doesn’t really expect an answer, and he’s not surprised that Bruce actually doesn’t give him one. They both know this is exactly the case.

 “The last thing I’ve ever thought of you is that you’re a coward, Bruce. But this fear of yours? This particular one? Not facing it, like the man I know you to be, has actually has turned you into one. You need to realize that driving Jason away is not the right way to deal with it. You need to look the truth in the eye, stand tall, and for once, humble… and face everything. The truth. Your mistakes. Your fear. And Jason.”

Tim stands up, and even though Bruce’s still sitting, he somehow feels so very small. And yet, he takes a breath, and keeps this going. “You own him the truth,” he categorically declares, “and if you don’t have the courage to tell him, then I will.”

Bruce’s eyes finally snap up at him. “Don’t…”

“Listen to me, Bruce, and get that through your head; you don’t get to decide for Jason -for any of us. He has the right to decide on his own. You owe him that respect, and I’ll be damned if I let you take this, or the right to judge and make his own choices, away from him. I’ll give you some time to find a way to process this, but that’s it. Jason _will_ know the truth, by one of us. You just choose if it’s gonna be you or me. I’ve been looking for him for a while now. I can’t find him. If I eventually do, then I’ll wait for you, to make up your mind. But not for too long.”

Tim takes a step back, suddenly feeling awkward at the lack of any response. He remains stoic, however, and, with the last bits of energy left in him, he voices his last question.

“Why haven’t you done anything about _them_ yet? Given your recent mood and outbreaks…”

“They’re planning something,” he catches up, and thankfully, Tim sees that familiar spark in his gaze, signaling that not everything’s gone just yet. “I won’t make any rush moves. Until I have a clear picture… let them believe they have the upper hand.”

“Understood. Yet still… I can’t help but wonder how come you haven’t paid them a visit in Arkham.”

Bruce takes a breath. Straightens his back. Looking so tired. So off. “If I did this back when I found out,” he answers, “I’d kill them all.”

Tim briefly closes his eyes, and wishes it wasn’t so blatantly understandable.

“I don’t want to see you like this ever again,” he says. “Until you decide to pull yourself together.”

Bruce nods, blinking at him. His gaze suddenly melting. “I’ve missed you, Tim,” he softly tells him. “All of you.”

 _I’m alone,_ is what he really means. _I love you, and I’m alone._

The burden on his chest moves upwards, to his throat, in the form of a sob that he refuses to let out, no matter how his bottom lip’s slightly trembling.

“You chose this,” he rasps, and turns his back at him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He stands, back at the wall outside the manor. He mumbles a curse through gritted teeth, finally letting go, allowing the tears burning in his eyes to finally roll free in streams down his face, mixing with the first, cold droplets of another rainy wave.

Bruce deserved that, right? He did. He truly did. No questions asked. It was absolutely necessary, for someone to finally confront him… about everything.

Tim was right. He knew he was.

He just wishes it didn’t hurt as much.

“Drake.”

He literally jumps up at the sudden shock of hearing this particular voice coming from above him.

“Dammit, Damian!” he hisses, frantically wiping his eyes with the back of his hands.

Damian, flushing red just a little bit, graciously pretends he hadn’t noticed, and jumps from the window he’d been hanging from, landing softly on his feet, down on the ground, beside him.

“I came back to inform father of an issue of grave importance,” he says, eyebrows knitted. “He doesn’t know I’m here just yet.”

Tim snorts. “And let me guess. You sneaked into the cave and heard everything we said.”

Damian stares at him for a while, before he reaches out his hand, holding a small, simple white card in his hand. Tim reads what he believes is a phone number written on it. “What is this?”

“You can reach Todd in this number.”

Tim feels his heart skipping a beat. _“What?”_

“My mother found me, and gave it to me, hoping I would reach for him… and make right to a mistake I’ve made,” he explains, uncomfortably. “Only I… I’m not sure how to approach this.”

Tim is speechless. “Damian, I… your mother…”

He shakes his own head, realizing that such details are of no importance right now.

“Why are you giving this to me?”

Unusual as it is, Damian hesitates for a moment. “You are closer to him than I’ve ever been. And more pleasant to him.”

Tim, in all his surprise and awe, catches himself faintly smiling. “Thank you, Damian,” he says, not bothering to hide any gratitude. “Thank you.”

The little boy just shrugs.

“Do you want me to say anything to him, if I see him? On your behalf?”

Damian blinks at him, expressionless. “That I believe that… father wronged him,” he says. “As have I.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tim’s patience runs out once he steps a foot on the apartment he shares with Stephanie, who’s currently not home. He throws his backpack on the floor, takes a seat on the couch, and calls the number on that card.

Dial once. Trice. Thrice…

_“You said only for emergencies, Talia. Or did you miss me already?”_

Tim jerks, holding back a gasp. “Jason. It’s… it’s me. Please, don’t hang up.”

Silence rules, and for a moment there, Tim’s almost panicking, thinking he’s lost him again. _“Where did you get this number?”_ comes next.

Tim closes his eyes, relieved. “Does it really matter?” he asks, voice gentle. He lets out a little, bittersweet laugh. “My God, Jay. I’m… I’m so glad to hear your voice.”

Jason noisily exhales on the line, but honestly, as long as he stays on the line, Tim will take anything, really. _“What do you want, Tim?”_

He’s trying to sound cold and distant, but he’s not managing very well, considering that the faint rasp Tim detects isn’t just out of bad connection or problems in the line.

“To see you,” he instantly requests, without hesitation. “Please, Jason, don’t say no.”

_“There’s nothing to talk about, Tim.”_

“Well, maybe I do have things to say, alright? Please, Jay. It’ll be just the two of us, promise. Dick’s been dying to see you too, but… it can wait.”

Jason doesn’t answer, so he takes it upon himself. “How about two days from now…”

 _“I’m not in the US,”_ Jason cuts him of.

“Oh! Okay then, I… how about next week then? Wednesday, midnight. Not in Gotham, let’s say… how about Blüdhaven, huh? Dick’s rooftop? He doesn’t have to know…”

_“I don’t mind. Just…”_

“You don’t have to say it. Bruce won’t know a thing… You know what? Screw it. I’ll be there, waiting for you, Jason, whether you’re coming or not. I just… wish that you do.”

The seconds that follow are probably the longest of his entire life.

 _“Fine,”_ is the reluctant response.

“Yes! Damn! Yes! Thank you, Jay. Thank you so, so much…”

He doesn’t know what else to say. Or, more accurately, there are _so many_ things to say, and he can’t right now, through the phone.

 _“I’m glad to hear you as well,”_ Jason murmurs quickly, and immediately hangs up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next part: Jay and Batbros! ^_^
> 
> My Tumblr: [Lady Paper Writerson's](https://ladypaperwriterson.tumblr.com/)


End file.
